


Insatiate Dance

by AndromedaPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Erotic Games, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Post-War, Pre-War, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-08-13 08:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: Read a datapad without breaking his concentration. That was all that a gladiator told his data clerk that he would need to do to win their little game.





	1. Megatronus and Orion Pax

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly inspired by a line from the fic Quarter After One by auri_mynonys, where Megatron mentions a game that he and Optimus used to play, when they were Megatronus and Orion Pax, that consisted of Orion reading a datapad while getting spiked.
> 
> The fic's title and the poem in this chapter are slightly edited from ["The Floating Poem, Unnumbered"](https://www.poeticous.com/adrienne-rich/twenty-one-love-poems-the-floating-poem-unnumbered) by Adrienne Rich.

An invisible, insatiable hunger roiled through his frame now that he knew of the things that Megatronus could do beyond the confines of the Pits. He spent most of his time at work, in the Hall, continuously glancing at the clock and wondering if time had slowed to a crawl for himself alone. 

Given Iacon and Kaon’s distances from the other, it was not feasible for him to travel back to his love every night cycle and return for work in the morning. The eons prior that he’d dedicated himself to his work in the archives wound up paying off in grand fashion, however - he had enough time off saved that every decacycle, he could take a few days with Megatronus in Kaon, allowing them more time to spend together. 

How he wanted Megatronus to be able to come with him to Iacon, to live there, or how he wished he could settle in with his gladiator in Kaon. Anything to keep them together, for it pained them both to stay apart from the other for very long. 

There would come a time that that would happen, Orion told himself as he watched the clock eagerly count down to the start of the next three solar cycles that he wouldn’t have to report to work. His optics roamed over the data coming over his screen and for a moment, his processor forgot how to do his duties. 

A message came over his communication line. He opened it, and upon reading it, he put a servo to his mouth to hide his broad smile.

_ I could spend my lifetime with you, and it would not be enough, my archivist. I eagerly look forward to your arrival. _ _   
_ _ -Megatronus _

Orion sent back a response once he’d composed himself enough.

_ You flatter me too much, my love. I can’t wait to be in your arms. _ _   
_ _ -Orion _

It was wonderful timing, as the computer terminal flashed a message that told him that his shift was up, and had a little reminder as to when he was supposed to report back. He was out of the front door of the Hall in a flash, blinking his optics up at the fading sunlight that still streamed through the gaps in buildings.

There was no need for him to head home tonight. If he were to traverse to Kaon himself, it would take him about three or four cycles before he could be reunited with his gladiator. On a train, it was only a cycle. 

Orion settled into his reserved seat and glanced out of the window, sighing and watching the skyline of Iacon go by and the sun set even further. From prior experience, he knew that if he could get himself to fall into a light recharge, the cycle would pass by so much faster. However, he was too excited to recharge for more than a few kliks at a time. He kept waking up and looking around before looking at his chronometer, only to see that not much time had passed. 

A few mecha on board the train with him gave him curious glances. No doubt they likely recognized him on some level, with all the coverage of Megatronus. They would get a glimpse or two of the company that he kept, which as of late, was mostly Orion. He’d brought a datapad to read, but the glow of the screen would likely attract more attention at this point, so he decided against bringing it out.

He ignored the prying gazes, staring hard out of the window. Perhaps  _ that _ would make time go by a lot faster. 

Soon enough, the train arrived in Kaon, pulling into the station. Orion tried his best - and utterly failed, he knew - to hide his excitement as he saw him.

There he was, cutting a figure above the helms of the assembled crowd. Most of them were smaller in stature, though still quite bulky in part to their thankless, manual labor they did in the mines. Megatronus stood out like a sore digit, his silver armor polished and gleaming much like whenever he had the procedure done before a fight in the arena.

When the door slid open, Orion darted out of the train car and wove his way through the crowd for his beloved. Megatronus caught sight of him, a little blur of red and blue among the crowd of dulled and dark armor, and met him halfway.

Orion jumped into Megatronus’s outstretched arms and pressed his entire body close, almost as if wanting to meld the both of them into one being. While an impossible task, their electromagnetic fields melded together in lieu of their physical forms, infused with happiness and longing and  _ missed you so much _ .

He brought Megatronus’s helm down for a kiss and laughed when the gladiator’s dentae nipped at his lipplates, engine growling. Orion could feel the stares from everyone on the platform boring into his back, but he cared so little. His spark was full, and he had a full three days to spend with the mech he loved.

“I missed you,” Orion said softly when he pulled away, smiling broadly as he gazed up at his love.

Megatronus’s optics could have lit up an entire city with the intense light and passion he saw. “I missed you too, my spark.” He leaned down and let Orion’s pedes hit the floor, and Orion took the gladiator’s servo into his as they walked out of the station. 

Kaon was different in atmosphere to Iacon, Orion had noticed upon the first time he’d come here. It was saturated with a sort of desperation that seemed to exist in Iacon as well; the main difference was that the desperation in Iacon existed in the alleyways and underfoot, where the castaways scavenged to survive outside of the view of the elites and the mid-castes. 

In Kaon, a city mostly populated by these same castaways, the desperation was everywhere you looked. 

Orion pressed himself a little closer to Megatronus’s side and kept his distance from most of the onlookers, choosing only to stare straight ahead if he didn’t look up at the gladiator next to him.

No harm would come to him. Megatronus would be there. But he would rather any incident be avoided.

“Where did you want to go before we go to my unit, Orion? There is an oil house not far from here.” Megatronus pointed it out, a ways ahead of them, with a lit up banner advertising cheery cycles where all midgrade energon was half its usual price. “I imagine you might need refueling after traveling here.”

Orion shook his helm. “I’m fine for the time being. I simply want to go lie on a berth with you.”

It came out a little more raunchy than he’d anticipated, but he saw the little gleam in Megatronus’s optics when it all came spilling out. Though in a committed relationship with his gladiator for some time by now, Orion couldn’t help the heat that flowed up to his faceplates. “I didn’t  _ quite  _ mean it that way.”

Megatronus chuckled and leaned down to kiss him, stopping in the middle of the walkway - much to the chagrin of those behind them, as Orion heard a few grumbles directed their way as the others maneuvered to go around them. “Nonetheless, you would have that tonight. If you are not in the mood for mid-grade,” Megatronus said as they walked past the oilhouse and Orion saw the flashing banner disappear from his peripherals, “then to my quarters we shall go.”

The crowd thinned out the closer they got to the Pits and the gladiatorial apartments constructed around it. Most solar cycles the pedestrian traffic was little to non-existent except for those that fought for the crowds and whomever they brought in for a night or two, but on the days of tournaments and matches, it was nearly impossible to get through the throng of Kaonians and others that came from around Cybertron. 

Orion ran his free servo up and down Megatronus’s arm, and gave him a slag-eating grin as Megatronus glanced down at him, a little bit of a fire in his optics. 

Megatronus’s quarters were on the second level above ground. Most of the windows in the stairwell and hallway were covered, making it a little disorienting when coming in from the bright lights of the streets. 

“How was your trip?”

“Uneventful, thankfully.” Orion could now feel a sense of exhaustion coming over his frame, no doubt aided by the darkness. “I felt a lot of optics on me but I did my best to ignore them.”

The gladiator gave a little chuckle-snort as he opened the door into his quarters. “Even now in Kaon, wherever I go, I seem to attract a few stares. You may, or may not, get used to it.”

Through another door was the large berth that Orion loved to lie on. He got ahead of Megatronus, bolting and flinging himself on it, burying his face in the soft sheets and mesh pillows. He didn’t look up when a heavy weight settled down next to him, instead pulling the sheet over his faceplates and optics.

“My spark,” a soft voice said, immediately pulling his attention. “Take that sheet off of your face.”

He didn’t take it off, but Orion lifted it so it was still draped over him, caught on his finials and the seams of his servo, and smiled at the gladiator. “Hello,” he said softly.

Megatronus gazed at him, and the look on his faceplates could make him melt. One of his large, silver servos cupped his face and leaned in, meeting him for a soft kiss.

How Orion would never get tired of their kisses. The first time they’d met each other halfway, fire and tenderness, he felt like his spark had bloomed, full in a way that he’d never been full before. He moved the sheet away and wrapped his arms around Megatronus’s shoulders and neck loosely, savoring the feel of Megatronus against him.

When Megatronus pulled away, Orion was slightly sad. He pushed himself into Megatronus’s side, flinging an arm over his broad chassis and snuggling up to him. 

“I did have an inquiry for you, Orion.”

Oh? The sentence sent a fit of anxiety into Orion’s tanks, though he believed that there was no mal intention behind it all. Still, he did close his optics and brace himself mentally for whatever might come, and then turned and met Megatronus’s optics. 

“I perused a few datapads of, as you might say,” a smirk came across Megatronus’s faceplates, “questionable nature, concerning games to play with your berthmate.”

Orion gave him a strange look, and he tilted his helm minutely to the side. 

“There was a game that caught my attention. Given your current occupation at the Hall,” Megatronus sat up and took Orion’s chin in a servo, looking him in his optics with a soft gaze, “I thought of you immediately. Please note that if you don’t feel comfortable, I won’t press the issue.”

“Just what is it, Megatronus?” Orion asked, noticing a moment afterwards how desperate and nervous he sounded.

“Would you consider,” he rumbled softly, “reading a datapad while bouncing atop my spike?”

That… was nowhere near what Orion had been expecting. Granted, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected, but Megatronus asking him to play a game of this nature. He narrowed his optics at the gladiator. “What are the rules of this game?” He paused, and then followed up with, “And since when do you read datapads not tied to history, plagues, or philosophy?”

The second question drew a laugh out of Megatronus. “I am a connoisseur of all literature, my archivist.” Gentle digits stroked the back of his servos. “Simple. Get through a passage, or a poem, without once losing your place, falling into overload, or in general letting go of yourself. A moment or two for composing yourself is acceptable.”

It was a game. There were penalties for losing. Orion asked, “And what happens if I am unable to control myself?”

“You have to restart your reading from the beginning. Either you win by getting through that reading, or I win when you decide you have had enough and beg for release.” Megatronus’s lipplates twisted into a salacious smirk. 

Orion felt his vents whine as he leaned up and eagerly kissed his gladiator, running his servos over the other mech’s broad chassis and moaning softly when those strong servos that had inflicted such violence in the Pits tenderly stroked up and down his sides. Megatronus dipped his helm a little further down, growling deep in his chassis as their kiss intensified. 

Never had he seen the birth of a star, but he could always imagine it from the texts written on the subject - fire, fury, explosions and shockwaves emanating throughout the universe. The spark between his and his lover’s lipplates felt the same way he’d always thought it might look and how it might feel. He pulled back and nodded in assent, mouth open slightly.

“Are you certain, my beloved?” Megatronus asked softly, and the look that his gladiator gave him made him melt in those strong arms. How many had been held in these arms before him, Orion wondered. “I do not wish to scare you from the idea. After all,” he nipped at one of Orion’s helm fins, sending a pleasant shiver down his back strut, “you were only recently divested of your seal.”

The archivist bit down on his lower lipplate and gazed up at the other mech with heat in his faceplates and fire in his optics. “Tell me what you want me to read,” he said a little bit breathlessly, nodding.

A low rumble emanated from the gladiator’s chassis. “There,” Megatronus nodded at the small stack of datapads he kept in an opposite corner of his berthroom. “Take your pick.”

Giving his love yet another kiss upon those perfect, unmarred lipplates, Orion slipped off of the berth and wandered his way over to the stack of datapads. He knelt down and took the first few of them into his servos, searching through their first few pages for something he could try to read through while taking a spike.

The first two were novels. Though tempting, Orion wasn’t entirely sure he could handle even a page or so of reading them while otherwise occupied. The third datapad was a collection of love poems from a bot under the pseudonym “Locuples.” 

He’d heard of these before, and seen them among the vast array of datapads in the Hall of Records. Scandalous whispers among his fellow clerks as they read the poetry in their off-times, talk of how erotic the underlying messages were. Orion flipped through the pages until his processor told him to stop and take a look.

And he could certainly see why his fellow clerks whispered among themselves.

He stood up and walked back over to the berth, datapad in one servo as he leaned down and kissed Megatronus, smiling against the gladiator’s lipplates. He felt sharp-tipped digits fall upon his sides, running up and down, giving him a pleasurable little tingle along his spinal strut.

“I take it you decided what to read,” Megatronus asked softly, with a knowing sparkle in his optics.

Orion nodded once, pulling away. Keeping the datapad secured in a servo, he stroked his digits down the gladiator’s chassis, directly over his spark, and down his middle towards his pelvic plating. The feather-light touches of his fingertips traced over the outline of his mate’s interface panel, causing Megatronus to shiver lightly. A large, clawed servo wrapped around his, and Orion looked up.

“Your panel first,” Megatronus said.

Right. Orion was not a small mech, but Megatronus was unfortunately still too much for him to take without sufficient preparation. He let his panel slide back, and moaned and grasped the datapad in both of his servos as careful, sharp digits dove into his wet valve, gently moving in and out, stretching the rim.

How he wanted to just sink down onto those digits and ride his lover’s servo with abandon, to just chuck the datapad away and say to the Pit with it. But it was a game, and he’d agreed to it, so he simply flexed his calipers around the intrusion.

Those sharp-tipped digits slipped out of his valve, leaving him aching and empty for a moment that stretched into a long cycle, before he felt the blunt tip of Megatronus’s spike nudge against his anterior node. With his servo that didn’t hold onto the datapad, Orion reached down and gripped the gladiator’s length as well, helping Megatronus guide it to his opening.

The solidness and thickness of the spike drew a soft moan from his vocalizer as he rolled his hips a little bit, sinking further down and sheathing the mech inside. It was a warm, snug type of fullness, the tip of Megatronus’s length reaching back towards his innermost node.

Bracing himself, Orion looked down at the datapad and began. “ _ Whatever happens with us, your frame / will haunt mine - tender and delicate-” _

The spike inside his valve pulsed, throwing him off. Orion closed his optics for a moment to reorient himself, and then reopened them. “ _ Your lovemaking, like the half-curled flora on the f-” _

Megatronus rolled his hips and  _ Primus _ it felt wonderful. He made a small noise in his vocalizer, willing himself to pay far more attention to the text on the screen and not to the thick, ridged, pulsing spike in his valve. It was an endeavour.

“- _ floor of the forests / washed by the stars. Your traveled, generous thighs / between which my whole face has come and come-” _

Digits prodded at his anterior node and traced the outline of his valve folds, and fire swept up his frame. Orion gasped and leaned forward, shivering above Megatronus, one of his servos shooting from gripping onto the datapad to find grip on one of the upper parts of the gladiator’s pelvic armor. His entire frame felt flushed, spasming, as the ridges that decorated that blasted, delectable spike ground against the nodes in his valve.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Megatronus gently chided, his blue optics flaring brightly as he settled his servos on the curve of Orion’s hips. Orion felt a little squeeze and he jolted, closing his optics. “No stammering or pausing for long. Those were the rules, my beloved.” He smirked. “From the start.”

Oh, how Orion absolutely hated the other mech just about now. Heat surging into his faceplates, Orion stared intently at the screen of the datapad and tried to focus once more. Trying to block out the sensation of the gladiator’s spike in his valve, pulsing gently against his nodes, was a feat that he wasn’t sure he could handle entirely.

He would try. In a vague attempt to give the gladiator what for, he clenched his valve rather harshly around the spike nestled inside and couldn’t help the little flare of satisfaction when Megatronus’s intakes hitched.

“ _ Whatever happens with us, your frame / will haunt mine - tender and delicate / Your lovemaking, like the half-curled flora on the floor of the forests / washed by the star-” _

Megatronus rolled his hips again, a mischievous twinkle in his optics. Orion gasped and clutched the datapad a little harder. “ _ Your traveled, generous thighs / between which my whole face has come and come - / the innocence and wisdom of the place my glossa has found th-” _

He was interrupted by the tip of Megatronus’s digits circling and gently squeezing his node. Orion felt his hips stutter and twitch and he leaned back slightly, bracing one of his servos against Megatronus’s thighs that had bent at the knee and provided a support for his back. 

“You stopped.” Megatronus said, a little giddily. “From the beginning, again.”

His processor was already hazing over from the bliss, but Orion found it in him to straighten his frame. Glowering at Megatronus, he recited, “ _ Whatever happens with us, your frame / will haunt mine - tender and del-” _

That blasted spike within his valve pulsed and twitched hard enough that it made him gasp.

“Oh, you were doing so well before,” Megatronus said playfully, teasing him in more ways than one. Orion hissed through his dentae and tried - and failed - to give the gladiator another cutting look. “Again,” Megatronus said lightly, smoothing his servo down Orion’s front. 

“You’re trying to make me go offline, aren’t you?” Orion hissed, heat radiating from his frame to the point that he could see the air around his optics quivering in response. 

“There’s no fun to be had in offlining you, my spark, my light,” Megatronus purred. “Are you surrendering, dear one?” the gladiator laughed as he ceased touching Orion, instead gifting him with an erotic and divine roll of his hips, causing Orion to gasp and intakes to hitch. “Tell me. Is it too much for you to handle, my little clerk?

The choice was now between reading again - and failing to progress further,  _ again _ \- or getting the frag that he’d been hoping for. Orion nodded frantically, nearly-sobbing as he grabbed at the plating on Megatronus’s abdomen, a feat made difficult as the gladiator moved his hips. “I surrender,” he cried out, valve clenching tightly around the other mech’s spike. “P-please, Megatronus. I-I don’t think I can - ah!”

In swift motion, the gladiator grabbed the datapad from his servo and tossed it at the nearest wall. Orion had only a nanoklik to fully register what happened before he felt that spike slip out of his valve, and when he wanted to whine in protest, he felt movement and his backplates meet the soft padding of the berth. A moment after reorienting himself, he looked up into Megatronus’s bright, brilliant blue optics.

“In me, please,” he whined, panting, his vents expelling pent-up hot air as he scrambled his legs around, trying to find grip on the gladiator’s waist again, trying to get him in,  _ please please please- _

His train of thought was interrupted in the best way as Megatronus heeded his wishes and sank in once more, filling him. His calipers rippled around the divine stretch, taking in the sensation of each ridge bumping against his sensor clusters, electric sparks shooting up and down his spinal strut with the movement. Orion moaned and tossed his helm back, arching his neck, and gasped as sharp dentae gently nipped along the cables.

“Please, move, please,” he begged, his arms frantically searching for seams of Megatronus’s back armor to hold onto. His digits found their grip, causing Megatronus to hiss as he began rocking against him. “I need you,” Orion gasped with each rock and thrust, each slide of that spike in his valve sending pleasure surging through his neural net. 

“And all of me you shall get,” Megatronus growled deeply, possessively, as he gripped Orion’s hips with both of his servos, slightly elevating them so his lower half was off the berth, and increased the pace of his thrusts. “My  _ spark _ ,” the gladiator rasped out loud, “my beloved, my archivist, how you  _ beg _ so beautifully, how could I ever deny you?”

Orion’s vents hiccuped with each hard thrust, but he had no complaints, not when every movement of his gladiator against him set off sparks and rubbed against his anterior node, further heightening his pleasure. “I love you,” he gasped.

Megatronus stalled a moment as he moved his face from where it was nestled in the crook of Orion’s neck, and kissed him deeply. “I would tear down the sky for you, Orion,” he confessed, venting heavily.

If Orino had any clarity in his processor, he would have countered Megatronus and said that there would have been no need for that, but his love hilted himself in his valve, and Orion could  _ feel _ the biolights of that ridged, wonderful spike pulse against his interior nodes. It sent him over, and Orion gave a desperate howl, arching up into Megatronus’s frame as he hit his peak.

He gasped and his intakes hitched over and over again as his overload ricocheted around his neural net, a feedback loop of intense emotion and pleasure. Faintly, he felt the intense grip that Megatronus had on his hips tighten, and a rush of fluid spilled into his valve. The charge from the fluid served to intensify his overload further, his limbs shaking against the gladiator.

Orion let out a small cry as he fell onto the berth, his love coming down after him and trapping him against the berth padding. He tiredly sighed and nuzzled his faceplates into Megatronus’s neck and chassis, venting softly as Megatronus slid his spike out. He winced when he felt the accumulation of their overloads - his and Megatronus’s fluids - trickle out and onto the berth, thinking of the mess, but before he could react further, Megatronus got off of the berth and had come back, cleaning him off while pressing kisses to his chassis.

Humming softly, Orion closed his optics and sighed, stroking his digits along Megatronus’s helm. “You knew I would lose.” 

Megatronus laughed, the vibrations close to his spark and making his plating rattle a little bit. “Of course I did. But,” he threw the cleaning sheet aside and grinned wickedly, kissing Orion’s blushing face, “we will have much more time and more opportunities to increase your stamina.”

The data clerk gave Megatronus a stare, and then lifted one of his servos with fingers splayed out and pressed it against the other mech’s face, gently and playfully shoving him away. “Allow me to recharge first and I’ll think further on it.”

Chuckling, Megatronus laid next to him, and Orion stretched on the berth, sighing contentedly as he felt the last little tingles of overload ebb away. He curled his pedes and arched his upper back, turning his helm to look at Megatronus and his bright blue optics that stared at him with wonder and love.

“I know I’ve told you before, but you have such a beautiful voice,” Megatronus said softly, lightly kissing along the length of one of Orion’s helm fins. Orion squirmed at the compliment and made a soft noise, closing his optics and then reopening to find that the other mech was holding the datapad out to him. “My victory came at a price of not hearing it more. Would you do me the honor of reading the poem to me, in its entirety?”

Orion curled into the gladiator’s warm frame, taking the datapad in the servo that was currently not trapped between their cuddled bodies. He rolled onto his back, and smiled when Megatronus in turn curled around his frame, nestling his helm above Orion’s.

The data clerk briefly skimmed his gaze down the entire text of the poem, and then reset his vocalizer.

_ Whatever happens with us, your frame _

_ will haunt mine—tender, delicate _

_ your lovemaking, like the half-curled flora  _

_ on the floor of the forests _

_ washed by the stars. Your traveled, generous thighs _

_ between which my whole face has come and come— _

_ the innocence and wisdom of the place my glossa has found there— _

_ the live, insatiate dance of your spark in my mouth— _

_ your touch on me, firm, protective, searching _

_ me out, your strong glossa and slender digits _

_ reaching where I had been waiting eons for you _

_ in my cavern — whatever happens, this is. _


	2. Megatron and Optimus Prime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The short poem that comes after the repeat of "The Floating Poem," from chapter one, is an edit from ["The Atheist"](https://bookriot.com/2018/10/18/erotic-poems/%22) by Megan Falley (number 8 on this list of 13). The poem at the very end is a translation of["Sonnet XVII"](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49236/one-hundred-love-sonnets-xvii) by Pablo Neruda.

Onlining his optics when the first sunbeam hit his faceplates, Optimus sighed and turned his helm minutely to his side, gentle smile gracing his faceplates when he saw bright red optics gazing at him.

There had been a time where he would have felt fear and longing for a time now past if he’d set his gaze on those optics. But, that time was also now long past. Optimus shifted and leaned over, gently kissing his mate’s lipplates and chuckling at the little pleased growl that Megatron gave from deep in his chassis. 

“Hello,” he said gently, smile still on his face.

Megatron responded by lifting a servo and stroking his helm fins and face, an expression of admiration crossing over his own visage. “I am glad you came online.”

Optimus nuzzled his helm into the gentle touch, closing his optics and letting his engine purr softly before turning to kiss the palm of the gladiator’s rough and scratched servo. “The thought that I will get to see your face to greet me is what helps me come online in the morning.”

“Oh?” Megatron said, smirk on his face as he pulled his servo back. “And what if I were not here to let you see my face?”

Optimus stretched his arms above his helm. “I may decide not to get out of berth until I did.”

Megatron buried his face in Optimus’s neck for a moment, planting a kiss there. “What if the reason you wouldn’t see my face as your first sight is because it was between your thighs?”

That sent a pleasant little shiver down Optimus’s spinal strut. Megatron must have noticed, as the old warlord gave a little chuckle. “My my, Optimus. The thought of that certainly gets you a little heated, doesn’t it?” 

The old Prime was loathe to admit it, but it absolutely did. He could picture it now, just as it always was on those morning cycles, stirring lightly out of slumber to gentle kisses and strokes along his front plating, feather-light touches of his panel and the feel of Megatron’s desperate mouth seeking him out, kissing him and suckling his node.

He shook off the little tingles forming in his circuits and kissed his sparkmate lightly before sitting up and getting out of berth. “Yes, but we don’t have time for it at this moment. Get up.”

Megatron groaned and in turn grabbed a mesh pillow and flung it over his faceplates. “I can think of a far more enjoyable activity than unpacking our datapads and arranging them,” he said, voice muffled by the cushion.

Optimus had to agree, but he merely sighed. “We’ve put it off for almost a stellar cycle. We have to do it now, or it will never get done.”

A second later, something thunked against his backplates. He stopped, looked down and behind him, and was greeted by the mesh pillow slumped against the back of his legs. Optimus picked it up and walked over to the berth.

Megatron smirked at him and his engine purred. “Come to your senses?”

In response, Optimus threw the pillow back on the berth and grabbed his mate’s arm, yanking him a little roughly out of berth. “No. Rather, I’ve come to retrieve an overgrown sparkling.”

Megatron gave him an absolutely miffed look that only drew a throaty laugh out of Optimus as the Prime dragged him out into the common room that was already bright with the morning sun. At the other end of the room were the empty shelves that had stood as such since they’d moved in, and in front were large crates full of datapads that had survived the long war.

Optimus stood where he was, sighing and finding himself a little overwhelmed by the mess. To his side, he felt Megatron gently stroke his arm to get his attention. When he turned to the old warlord, Megatron leaned down and gave him a gentle kiss. Optimus smiled and wrapped his arms around the other mech’s neck.

They had been apart for four million stellar cycles, a love affair that had taken them across the universe. Each time they parted, they always found their way back to the other. Optimus didn’t feel entirely keen on being separated from his gladiator, his champion, his love - and now, his conjunx - ever again.

Large, clawed servos found their way to his hips, and Optimus sighed a little wistfully as he arched his back and hips into the touch. He had no qualms about taking Megatron right then and there - Primus knew how they’d spent the first few solar cycles post-war and in their home, Megatron bending him over almost every piece of furniture that could take the weight, him shoving Megatron against the walls, claiming each other with a fiery passion, the culmination of millions of stellar cycles apart. 

No. Not yet. They would have plenty of time for this after the task he wanted to get done. 

He pulled back, humming softly and reaching up to stroke Megatron’s face lightly before turning to the nearest of the containers. “Primus above,” he said softly with a little lilt of amusement. “I suppose it is fitting that an archivist and a politically-interested and motivated gladiator would accrue this number of datapads. As we go, it might be prudent to eliminate those that we feel we won’t be using any further.”

Megatron made a slightly gruff noise. “And to think that we lost most of our personal libraries in the duration of the war. How would you propose we arrange our,” Megatron took a look at the datapads piled around the common room and sighed, “_ collection _ of datapads? Would it adhere to the filing system used in the Hall of Records?”

“The humans have a way of arranging their libraries,” Optimus said thoughtfully, trying his best to remember how they did so. “For nonfiction subjects, they arrange their datapads by ten main classes, ten further divisions, and then another ten of incredibly specific subsections. They ascribe numbers as they go, ranging-”

“Ranging from the numbers zero to nine hundred and ninety-nine,” Megatron said, interrupting and nodding. “The Dewey Decimal System, yes.”

Optimus gave his sparkmate a look, arching one of his optic ridges. Megatron clearly saw it, as the gladiator bent down on one knee joint to look at one of the crates of datapads. “Soundwave is fascinated with the methods of storing knowledge adapted by alien cultures. Primus, he would send entire blocks of messages to me about his incredibly specific interest.”

The Prime smiled and chuckled. “He would have been very welcome at the Hall of Records as a data analyst.”

Megatron gave a hum of acknowledgement. “Yes, I imagine he would have, had he been put into a higher caste than the same one I was in.”

Ah. Yes. Optimus shuffled a little awkwardly and reset his vocalizer. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to bring-”

“There is no harm done, my spark. It was simply an observation.” The warlord got to his full height again. “I don’t believe we’d have enough of a collection to justify using such an incredibly specific system as the human one,” Megatron said. “Perhaps we could arrange them according to the name of the author?”

Optimus made a pained noise. “If we did so, should we arrange them by their primary designation or their secondary one? And once that has been implemented, what do we do with the datapads authored by those with only one moniker?”

“Fair point,” Megatron grumbled, looking down at the datapads he held in his servos. “Then should we, barring our ability to be so specific as the humans are, perhaps arrange them into those ten disciplines that you’d mentioned?”

Optimus took a look at the empty shelves and frowned slightly. In a perfect and ideal world, he would have already compiled a list of the titles of each datapad, separated into subsections regarding their discipline, and had that list on its own datapad or in a file in the Grid, so he and Megatron could access it separately and find out what they owned and where it was shelved.

“For now, it might be best to shelve them based on the ten disciplines. Then, when that is done, we can decide how further to separate them.”

Megatron thought on it for a moment, and then nodded. The gladiator reached into the closest of the boxes and brought out more datapads, and Optimus saw an expression of contemplation cross the rough and jagged faceplates. He in turn looked down at the nearest of the containers and brought out two datapads, turning them on.

One was a datapad on the history of mixing color for armor plating. He asked himself why he had ever needed that in the first place - in his many millions of stellar cycles being online, he couldn’t remember using it. It was a candidate for elimination.

He wondered if perhaps Knock Out would find any use for it. The subject seemed right up his particular aisle. He set it aside on the floor, starting a pile for what wouldn’t make it to the shelves.

The second datapad was Polyhexian literature. Some of their poems had been his favorite, and he hadn’t read them in quite some time, so he reached for another datapad to shelve, when he saw it: a very thick, very much dated datapad peered up at him from the crate and beckoned him. Optimus leaned down and picked it up gingerly, a little surprised at how heavy it was. 

Running his digits over the screen to activate it, he came upon what was clearly a poem.

And his spark stopped as he read over the words, his processor harkening to the many times he’d read it while riding a gladiator’s spike. How his voice stuttered on the words, feeling the thick spike plunging upwards, sharp servos on his hips.

A moment before the arms wrapped around his frame, Optimus heard Megatron’s approach. He looked at the shelves - he’d made no progress, and Megatron had put a small servo-ful away.

“What are you doing with that old datapad?” Megatron chuckled, pressing his lipplates into the nape of Optimus’s neck. “I was under the impression that you also wished to follow that human’s advice to… what was it, only keep things that “spark joy?””

Optimus smiled, despite himself, and turned his face towards Megatron, allowing the old warlord to kiss him, and then he truly chuckled when Megatron gave him a face of offense that he didn’t return the kiss. “You don’t recognize this datapad,” he stated.

The gladiator slowly turned his gaze from the Prime to the datapad. “Should I have recognized it?”

The Prime then leaned in towards the closest of Megatron’s audio, whispering, “_ Your frame will haunt mine, tender and delicate _.”

A slow dawning came over Megatron’s faceplates, the words from so long ago activating memories he likely hadn’t accessed in ages. Optimus kept a sharp optic on the mech, but couldn’t help the slag-eating little grin that crossed his own faceplates.

“All this time?” the old warlord asked, his electromagnetic field infused with something like shock, surprise. Megatron drew back from the embrace and gently tugged the old datapad from Optimus’s grip, activating it, and Optimus noticed how even he seemed taken aback by the fact that it still worked. “You’ve kept it for this long?” Then, a moment later, a dawning realization. “And exactly _ when _ did you take it from my collection?”

Oh Primus. It had been quite a long time, Optimus knew. He did his very best to look ashamed, but judging by the continued glower from the other mech, he knew it was failing. “It was some time before the High Council meeting,” he said. “I had done my best to take it back to you, but it continued to fail to cross my processor even after I committed that poem to memory.” He felt a little mischievous smirk play across his faceplates before he stopped and pulled it back, but he knew Megatron saw it.

The other mech crossed the distance between them again, and took his faceplates into his servos. How Optimus loved the kisses that his mate gave him - possessive, fierce, hungry, searching, desperate to be as close to him as he could. Optimus put his arms around Megatron again and met the warlord’s kisses with a fierce hunger of his own, moaning as Megatron nipped at his lower lipplate.

“Do you still remember those poems?” Megatron asked with a raspy voice, his optics blazing with a fierce arousal as he pulled back, much to Optimus’s dismay. “Do you still remember the first one that I had you read as you sat on me?”

The Prime leaned in again and nipped at Megatron’s lower lipplate in response, prompting a deep chuckle. “From memory, no. It has been far too long since I read them.” Optimus took the sharp-edged helm into one servo, drawing Megatron a little closer, smiling a little salaciously. “Would you like to help me remember?”

Megatron’s engine roared and he tried to grab Optimus, to pick him up in his arms and cart him off to their berth, but Optimus bested him. Storing the datapad in his subspace, the Prime grasped Megatron’s helm in both servos, lipplates roughly meeting as he pressed his frame against the old gladiator’s and pushed him through the common room and into their berthroom. He felt Megatron’s legs hit the edge of their berth, and he put his full weight on his sparkmate to pin him to the berth, all while not once letting go of the scarred lipplates.

Beneath him, Megatron’s frame continued to heat, and the gladiator tried to wrap his arms around him, but Optimus bucked them off and climbed atop the old warlord, feeling fire surging through his circuits as he roughly seized Megatron’s lipplates in his again. The gladiator’s engine revved, his entire frame vibrating so violently that if Optimus were still the same stature that Orion Pax had been, he may well have been thrown off of Megatronus by the shaking. 

But, he was Optimus Prime, of a bigger stature now. He clamped his thighs around Megatron’s waist, suckling lightly at the silver mech’s lipplate before drawing back and proudly sitting atop his pelvis, a conqueror looming over his conquest. 

One of Megatron’s servos reached for his panel, but Optimus lightly and playfully shoved it back as he pulled it back himself, shivering lightly when cool air passed over his opening. Optimus reached down and lightly teased his node, gasping softly, before moving his digits down to his opening and delving inside, two digits stretching his rim.

All Megatron could do was watch with an unabashed hunger and desire on his faceplates, and how Optimus loved and savored the fire in those smoldering crimson optics. He saw Megatron’s servos twitch, as if they wanted to reach for him and help claim his overload, but Optimus gave the mech a look that seemed to convey what he wanted it to convey - no touching.

“The rules are the same,” Optimus said in as even a voice he could muster, pulling his digits out and rubbing the wet lips of his valve over the very hot panel that held back the spike that he absolutely craved. “No losing my place while riding your spike. Should I do so, I have to restart the passage or poem from the beginning.”

Megatron looked very much elated, gleeful at the prospect of resuming this old game. Optimus remembered how much he’d favored it when they were together in his Kaon apartment, how they’d spent so much time in berth with datapads and playing this game over and over again until Orion Pax could barely hold himself up and would collapse onto Megatronus.

Faintly, he could recall Megatronus murmuring something about increasing his stamina and endurance for these activities. He hoped he would be able to finally best his warlord at his own game. Sighing contentedly, he rolled his hips, dragging his valve over the spike panel. “I am adding yet another little rule,” Optimus said, stroking one tip of a gentle digit along Megatron’s faceplate. “The first one that overloads will lose our game, be it myself or you, instead of the one reading the poem always the one to be punished.”

The old Decepticon nodded a little enthusiastically, and Optimus had to wonder if he’d even registered what he’d said. Pit, he felt like he’d barely registered it himself, having to remind himself that it was the old rules, with the new rule of the first to overload being the loser.

Optimus pulled the datapad out and made it sure it was on the poem, the one from so long ago that had ignited fire and fury and passion between the both of them, and he stroked his free servo over Megatron’s interfacing panel. It slid back, and a very erect and very much ready spike emerged, the thick dribbling length sliding against his front.

The Prime rolled his hips a little bit, nudging his anterior node against the little platelets on the spike, and moaned as the contact sent a little spark up his spinal strut. He crawled a little further up, feeling the spike bump against the rim of his valve. He grasped the length in one servo, positioned himself directly above it, and sank down.

The motion drew little gasps of arousal from both mechs as Optimus hilted the other mech’s spike inside him. It was thick, ridged so perfectly, the contact with the nodes deep inside of his valve sending electric shocks up and down his frame. The Prime squeezed on the length a little bit, savoring the hitch of Megatron’s intakes, before he looked back down at the poem. He arched his hips and flexed his calipers, not once breaking his gaze away from the datapad as he read in the calmest voice he could muster, _ “Whatever happens with us, your frame / will haunt mine—tender, delicate-” _

Megatron groaned loudly, his neck arching slightly. His spike throbbed, pulsing lightly against his nodes.

“-_ your lovemaking, like the half-curled flora / on the floor of the forests / washed by the stars. Your traveled, generous thighs- _”

He felt a sharp point of a digit nudge his anterior node. Without missing a beat, Optimus transferred the grip on the datapad to one servo only, reaching down his front to grab Megatron’s servo that was teasing at him so boldly and held onto the wrist with a fierce grip, refusing to let Megatron have it back for now. “_ -between which my whole face has come and come— / the innocence and wisdom of the place my glossa has found there—” _

Another questing servo stroked up and down his front, feather-light touches as he read. He released that one servo and grabbed the active one, throwing it off him, but then the first servo was back at his node, so Optimus did his best and tried to grab both servos into his free hand’s grip. “-_ the live, insatiate dance of your spark in my mouth— / your touch on me, firm, protective, searching-” _

“Primus,” Megatron growled deep in his chassis, his optics dimmed to a very dark crimson in unadulterated lust as he gazed up at the Prime. “Primus above, what did I ever do to deserve you, Optimus?”

Optimus gave another roll of his hips and pushed down the urge to moan. He lightly yanked on the wrists his servo was wrapped around and let Megatron resume full use of them, letting the warlord stroke his digits up and down his front as he continued, “-_ me out, your strong glossa and slender digits-” _

The old warlord gave a deep moan and rocked his pelvis upward, both servos moving from Optimus’s front to hold onto his hips. The Prime paused, a little startled by the gentle touch of his lover, his conjux, his everything.

“From the beginning, again,” Megatron smirked up at him, crimson optics glowing playfully.

Oh. That was how Megatron wanted to play it.

Well. Optimus was more than up for the challenge. Bemoaning the fact that he’d been two - _ two _ \- lines away from finishing the poem uninterrupted, he began again. Keeping his voice steady, Optimus recited, “ _ Whatever happens with us, your frame / will haunt mine—tender, delicate _ _ / _ _ your lovemaking, like the half-curled flora / on the floor of the forests / washed by the stars. / Your traveled, generous thighs / between which my whole face has come and come—” _

Those _ blasted _ servos trailed up and down his sides, so Optimus, as he read “ _ -the innocence and wisdom of the place my glossa has found there— / the live, insatiate dance of your spark in my mouth—” _shifted his legs so they bent at the knee, facing upward, and the lower half of his legs pinned Megatron’s arms - just below the wrist - to his own sides.

Megatron made an offended noise at the trap and writhed a little bit. Truthfully, Optimus wanted to as well. This position was not optimal for interface, as the new position of his legs couldn’t afford him much in the way of rolling his own hips. The Prime gave stuttered little jerks, dragging his valve along the thick spike inside but unable to properly ride it. “-_ your touch on me, firm, protective, searching / me out, your strong glossa and slender digits-” _

“Optimus,” Megatron gasped out loud, his optics red but showing that his own processor was slowly losing grip on coherence. The old warlord’s gaze was not at him, at his face now, but was focused where they were joined, how Optimus tried to roll his hips along his length, the little slide up and down. The Prime relaxed the calipers of his valve, giving Megatron a brief respite, before rippling them up and down, clenching tight to the spike shoved deep inside.

Gasping, Megatron arched up as Optimus said_ “-reaching where I had been waiting eons for you / in my cavern — whatever happens, this is. _”

There it was. He was done, having read that poem in its entirety without an interruption in his voice, no gasping or pleading for more. A victory that he’d craved a from time long past, now given to him. 

“No overload,” Optimus mused softly, moving his legs so he knelt properly on Megatron’s hips, able to move much more. “Perhaps another poem is in order, wouldn’t you agree, my love?”

Megatron was no longer coherent as he writhed, bucked his hips, yearned for more touch and stimulation. In the deeper parts of his spark, Optimus wanted to give Megatron what he craved. Instead, he rolled his hips again and flipped to the second poem._ “The first time we made love I realized why / I never prayed. One bot can only say-” _

Something in Megatron semed to recognize this poem. Short, but it was one of his favorites, Optimus remembered belatedly, as he squeezed his calipers and finished, lowering his voice. “-_ Oh Primus so many times.” _

He felt Megatron’s hips jerk up into him, and Optimus clamped his thighs further around the old warlord’s frame as Megatron overloaded _ hard _, growling and hissing between his sharp dentae. On the verge of climax himself, Optimus leaned forward slightly and let the datapad drop off the side of the berth, faintly hearing it fall somewhere, and he stroked his digits over Megatron’s heaving chassis, as if in a comforting motion.

He subconsciously began rolling his hips even moreso, bucking against Megatron’s quieting frame, dragging his valve along that thick spike and bumping his node against Megatron’s plating. The impact caused him to gasp and he arched on top of the warlord, vocalizer hitching and resetting as he cried out a name, a name he wasn’t entirely aware of.

Fire flared through his circuits as those sharp digits belonging to the other mech did what they had endeavoured earlier, and circled around and rubbed insistently at his anterior node. Primus it was so much, _ so much _ for his frame to properly process, it felt like a dream he was having instead of the life he was living. Reality couldn’t possibly be this perfect, where he was alone with his mate, his mate that he’d loved and longed for for so very long.

His world was upended, and Optimus had only time to blink up at Megatron - blink _ up, _ he realized - before gasping and arching his back as the old warlord slid home, hilting himself. He wrapped his legs around Megatron’s waist, intakes hitching with each harsh and brutal thrust against his valve. Servos scrabbling for something to hold onto, they gripped onto some of the seams of his conjunx’s back armor.

“That is the wrong designation,” Megatron growled from deep in his chassis, rocking against Optimus, the Prime’s processor going blissfully blank as he continued, “You should be saying _ my _name.”

“M-Mega-” Optimus tried to say, hitching again on the second syllable as the rough thrust stoked fire in his valve, dragging along his sensors. “Megatron, _ please! _”

“Please what, my beloved?” Megatron asked, a very mischievous smirk evident in his voice.

“Frag you,” Optimus nearly spat, angry as his processor and spark and valve all yearned for release. “You _ know _what I want, you absolute Pitspawn.” He gasped a moment later when the warlord rolled his hips, helm dropping back onto the berth. Megatron drew out, and then pushed back in, eliciting a startled, “Ah!” from his vocalizer.

“I cannot know what you want unless you tell me,” Megatron replied huskily as he seized Optimus’s neck with his dentae, biting and nibbling along the cables. “What do you want?”

“Frag me, spike or glossa or digits, I care little right now,” Optimus finally gasped, now only half-aware of the world around him. “Just, please _ frag _me.”

Megatron moved his helm to kiss him so deeply that it seemed that time stood still, and all of his other senses were deprived and nulled by his frame; he couldn’t feel the thick intrusion of the warlord’s spike in his valve, he couldn’t hear the sounds of their coupling, his optics were closed so he couldn’t see what was before him, he couldn’t smell the faintly acrid smell of their fans working to keep them from overheating. He could only taste and feel how Megatron kissed him, how Megatron wrapped his arms around him in a protective embrace, never wanting to let go.

The warlord moved his hips slowly away, sliding his spike almost all of the way out, leaving only the flared tip inside. Optimus reopened his optics and made a needy little noise and Megatron kissed him again, before plunging back in so sharply and forcefully that it moved them both further up the length of the berth. He grunted, shifted himself, and then pulled out and slammed home once more.

Optimus’s intakes hitched as he gasped, clutching fiercely now at Megatron’s helm with one servo and bringing him close so the other mech’s face was on his neck again, curling upwards and begging for release. Megatron’s servos were at his hips, the warlord curling his fingers in so deeply that the Prime was sure there were indentations and gouges that might draw energon. With his other servo, Optimus groped around for something to grab onto and settled it on one of Megatron’s servos, clutching onto it as Megatron gripped his hip.

The slick slide of the spike continued to ramp his charge up, higher and higher, made the spasms of his valve more erratic as it tried to keep a tight grip on Megatron. The old warlord, his old enemy, his best friend and the one that knew him the best, rocked back and forth and gasped and groaned in his audio receptor.

“You’re so gentle and so beautiful,” he said softly, the vibration of his voice shooting pleasant twinges down the Prime’s frame. “The best mate one could ask for.”

He reached his peak, and his vision whited out as he arched his lower back, callipers rippling. His valve, his array, ached so wonderfully as his frame was jostled, Megatron still thrusting. The telltale pulsing and twitching of the ex-gladiator’s spike in his valve told Optimus that he was close again. When the tremors and haze of his release faded, Optimus stroked his digits faintly along the other mech’s helm, murmuring softly, “It is alright, my love. Come for me.”

Megatron stalled a moment, his optics flaring suddenly, and then hissed in release and relief. Optimus closed his optics and gave a soft and quiet sigh, savoring the intimate feeling of the spill in his valve. Between their frames, sparks still twinged at his neural net, and Optimus reached down for his valve, rubbing his digits on his anterior node once, twice, thrice before the discharge of the leftover arousal made him gasp and his valve clench further on the spike still twitching inside him. 

The warlord pressed his helm against Optimus’s, and the Prime chuckled softly as he stroked his digits along Megatron’s face, cupping his chin and kissing him gently before letting his helm fall back onto the pillows, closing his optics.

“You win,” Megatron grumbled, though he knew by now that it wasn’t in anger, but rather in a sense of amazement and respect. “What a fool I was, to think you would lose as easily as you did when you were a data clerk.”

A sense of smugness coursed through Optimus’s frame. He smiled and reopened his optics, grinning at his mate. “I was certain I would not have been able to get you to overload before reciting a third poem I had in processor. There were more I was quite looking forward to reading to you.”

Megatron scoffed, but buried his face in Optimus’s neck. “I do not have the endurance I used to as a young gladiator, and you know it well.”

“And I do not have the stamina I used to,” Optimus said, wriggling out a little from directly underneath Megatron, adjusting their positions so they were at each other’s side now. “Much has changed, indeed.”

The sun was a little higher in the sky, evidenced by the shortened sunbeams that filtered through the window. Faintly, Optimus had to wonder how many cycles had passed between first waking up and being tempted by the image of Megatron’s face in his valve, and now, blissed out of his processor and poetry on his glossa. 

Both mechs laid there for a long while, the only sound that Optimus could really discern being that of their fans working to cool them down. He stared up at the ceiling, smiling softly, savoring the company of his conjunx and the love he felt for him.

There was a small nudge at his spark. When he opened it up, welcomed it, he was flooded with adoration and love from Megatron, from his mate. Optimus reached over a little blindly, rooting around with his servo, before finding Megatron’s own and taking it, squeezing it softly.

“What was the third poem you wanted to recite, before I ruined your plans?” Megatron asked a little mischievously, holding onto him as if he would drop out of existence should he let go. “Is it a Cybertronian one? By Sonata, or Asterope perhaps?”

Shaking his helm once, Optimus replied, “It is one from Earth, written by a rather popular poet. A controversial figure, as they are wont to be,” he chuckled lightly. “I came upon a collection of their poems and… though many of them can pass over my helm, this one in particular has a rather special place in my spark.”

Megatron made a small noise of curiosity and kissed the side of his helm, sending a little tingle down Optimus’s neck and spinal strut. “Would you recite it for me, still?”

Optimus sighed and closed his optics, trying to imagine the words in front of him. He stroked his digits along his front briefly before curling into Megatron’s embrace.

The datapads had waited a stellar cycle. They could wait a little bit longer.

_ I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, _

_ or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: _

_ I love you as one loves certain obscure things, _

_ secretly, between the shadow and the soul. _

_ I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries _

_ the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, _

_ and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose _

_ from the earth lives dimly in my body. _

_ I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, _

_ I love you directly without problems or pride: _

_ I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love, _

_ except in this form in which I am not nor are you, _

_ so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, _

_ so close that your eyes close with my dreams. _


End file.
